


kiss of light (and all my mirrors are windows)

by mostlikelydefinentlymad



Series: PROMPT FILLS [6]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkward Flirting, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gay Raphael Santiago, M/M, Matchmaker friends, Prompt Fill, Raphael is a boxing instructor next door, Simon is in a band, gray ace raphael, the main pairing is Raphael/Simon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-06 03:00:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10324064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostlikelydefinentlymad/pseuds/mostlikelydefinentlymad
Summary: Simon falls in love and manages to completely screw it up. Sometimes in order to fix the damage, you have to fix yourself.Who says an ending can't be a beginning?





	1. first impressions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thatbloodyines](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatbloodyines/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maureen is a pushy roommate and Raphael Santiago has a personal vendetta against Bay Breeze's.

 

* * *

 "On your feet," Maureen orders.

Simon notes the subtle changes in her clothing, her appearance. Bold eyeshadow complements his roommates rich brown eyes and curves at the crease to form a cat-eye on each side. Her hair is styled down to the last springy curl and he opens his mouth to compliment her until he catches himself. She's being bossy again and he's not giving into her inane idea's this time. 

Not after he'd sported a black eye for two weeks when she'd dragged him to a new club, assuming his lack of a filter wouldn't get him in trouble.

"Nope."

She prods at his shoulder, insistently. "Come on, I want to have some fun and you need to move from that couch before it swallows you up."

Simon leisurely taps a few buttons on his controller and takes down an enemy combatant. 

She taps her foot.

He doesn't honor that with eye contact and continues on striking down the bad guys.

They're at a stalemate. 

 

"I  _am_ having fun. 's not my fault you never embraced the sweet sweet nectar of the gaming world." 

"Simon," she grits. He flinches at the stern tone but stands his ground. "We're going out. There's a club on 27th I've been dying to try. Maia had nothing bad to say about it and she  _also_ threatened my life if she has to forklift you off the couch." 

He'd lost a fine job at The Institute only five days prior (due to a careless mistake) and he's quite enjoying wallowing in his misery, thank you. That's what  _normal_ people do. They certainly don't go club hopping. 

She crosses her arms defiantly. "Fine. If you go with me I'll stop eating your Lucky Charms."

Tempting but who can trust a thief? 

The controller rumbles in his hand as he's struck down. On the screen, his character groans and drops to his knees. Simon understands that sentiment. You and me both, man. You and me both. 

"Mm nope."

Her lips form a thin line which tells him nice Maureen is gone and he'd better tread lightly. She rarely gets angry but when she does it's a chilly stony facade with each word chosen carefully. There's a challenge in her dark eyes.

"Name your price, Lewis." 

He shakes his head and stretches leisurely, causing the ancient sofa to groan. He and the sorry beaten down excuse of a sofa truly are a matching pair, she thinks. It's hard losing your only source of employment, it can do a number on your pride.  Still, she needs her wingman. Okay, scratch that. 

Her  _I blew it, take me home_ guy. 

"If I walk out that door," he starts, eyes flashing toward the front door. "I might just burst into flames"

He clucks his tongue like the drama queen he is.  "Can't risk it or you'll be out of a bandmate."

She retreats to the bedroom across from hers and returns a wrinkled pile of clothing - hopefully not gathered from the floor. 

 

 

 _'We need backup, sergeant,'_ pleads a grunt in fatigues at Simon's regenerated character. 

 

 

Maureen puts her hands on her hips and gives him a look that haunts his dreams. Er, nightmares. She's scary when she's ordering people around. 

"We can do this the easy way - dress yourself. Or we can do it the hard way and you  _know_ I'm not gentle."

She has poured him into sweats and a clean t-shirt many a drunken night and it's like dressing a damn cat every time. He's all flailing arms and clinginess when he's wasted. He'd fit right in on a nature documentary: the human koala who still manages to knock his friend off balance when he's helpless. When he makes no move to stand, she tugs at his ratty shirt.

The controller smacks the ground with a thump and his character dies a merciless death (again). 

"Ow, Jesus Mareen. Anyone ever tell you your nails aren't _supposed_ to be talons? Surprised I've got any skin left."  

"If you'd listen the first time," she starts.

He makes a run for the bedroom with his clothes before she can continue.

* * *

 

The nightclub is packed with incredibly _sexy_  people and Simon's convinced the only way he made it through the door was because Maureen has connections. Or sorcery, who knows. Either way, he's the bottom of the barrel. 

Upbeat music throbs around them as sweaty bodies writhe on the dancefloor. Maureen takes it all in stride and scans the room for potential dates. She's has an eagle eye, Simon thinks. If there's a hot girl, she _will_ hone in her. Most of the time she succeeds in racking up phone numbers - most of which she never uses. Maureen has a method that allows her to narrow down potentials to at least two.

Simon isn't sure how. Maybe he can ask her on the way home. His dating life is non existent due to a chronic case of wallflower. He blends, he's invisible. That's the bullcrap he feeds himself at least. 

-

 

He squints at a colorful laminated menu and honestly tries to act like an adult and not spin in the bar chair. He mostly succeeds. 

"Bourbon," he states confidently, dazzling smile pasted on his face. 

The bartender shakes her head like she wants to refuse the order but is obligated to follow through because _The customer is always right._ She's reaching for a glass when Maureen holds up a finger. Her own drink rests on the counter beside of him. He could steal it, he could. Retribution for the Lucky Charms. He's plotting the heist when her voice breaks through his villainous plan. 

"He'll get sick. Simon, you're going to puke. He'll have a Bay Breeze." 

He opens his mouth to protest but the (relieved) bartender has already began the process. _Rude._

"I can order for myself y'know."  

Maureen rolls her eyes. "Straight vodka with like 3 tablespoons of orange juice does not a screwdriver make. Have you already forgotten that sad attempt at making a drink? The carpet is still orange."

The bartender gives him a sympathetic smile and at least I've got one person on my side, he thinks. She's merely doing her job by listening to Maureen and wanted to slip him a free drink, sure. That's legitimate, right? He sips his expertly crafted Bay Breeze, refusing to admit it tastes decent, good.

"It was one  _ounce,_ thank you," he corrects.  

"Whatever. See that girl in the green dress? I'll be over there."

She gets more girls than he does and most nights out with her end up with him nursing a weak drink at the bar and fussing over smudged glasses. God hates him, he must. Maybe the big man blames Simon for those spitballs at his Bat Mitzvah. That'd be his crummy luck. 

He watches her back as she leaves, it takes less than 3 minutes for her to capture the girl's attention. It's just not fair and not right. He can't get a girl or a guy. No one wants a geek who plays guitar in a killer band  _only_ because theirs dropped out and went to AA. 

Though he respects the hell out of Jace Wayland for having taken the initiative himself. 

-

 

He's three hours in when a gorgeous latino man with a bored expression takes the seat next to him. God help him, Simon is practically drooling. For reasons unknown, Mr. Sex is wearing an overly formal suit with the jacket open and hair slicked into a neat backwards flip at the top. In a club filled to the brim with scantily clad partiers, he's wearing one fully dressed layer too much. 

"That's a weak drink," the man says in an unimpressed tone. 

It takes Simon a second to comprehend that the man is speaking to _him_ because wow, that's a sexy neck. Not that he has a thing for them, it's just, it's a nice one. It deserves to be lavished with attention and kissed often. _By me_ , his brain offers. 

"What?"

The man gestures at Simon's half empty glass and orders himself a mojito. 

"Bay Breeze?"

Simon silently curses Maureen. He puffs up his chest and wills any brave bone in his body to make itself known.  Confrontation is not a strength he is versed in.

"Yeah? What's so bad about that? Yours has  _mint._ I don't care what you say, that's gross."

The bartender slides a pale green drink to the man with two sprigs of mint and a freshly sliced lime. It's pretty if nothing else. 

"You really shouldn't insult what you haven't tried."

Simon huffs. "Well  _you_ shouldn't insult other people's drinks. That's rude, _you're_ rude." 

Surprisingly, the man smirks and juts his chin in Simon's direction. "Raphael Santiago."

That shouldn't have been hot but it was and Simon is a walking disaster of a person who is apparently into jerks who think mint is okay in drinks. People who have no taste buds are not to be trusted but his broken filter strikes again.  

"Simon Lewis. It, uh, means  _listen_ in Hebrew 'cause I'm Jewish and my mom has a weird sense of humor. I don't listen, mostly. It could also be _Shi'on_." 

Raphael sips his mojito in a way that makes Simon think truly sinful thoughts, filthy. Mr. Sex regards Simon's babbling with a raised brow.

"You talk too much." 

Simon balks, personally affronted. They've spoken for less than an hour and already the hot guy is on his bad side. Not exactly the best first impression.

"First of all, how dare you? ...are you always this nice to others? And why am I still talking to you, again? You're bringin' me down." 

Despite this, the stranger seems to enjoy their barbs and it's possible Simon does as well, he's not admitting to that. It's a lot like flirting but that's just him wishing for the moon. However, what Raphael Santiago says next spells out his motives plain as day and if that isn't hot as fuck...  

 

"You have a nice voice, Simon Lewis," he purrs. 

 

Jesus, the sensual way the man says his name; Simon finds himself wondering what that voice would sound moaning his name in the dark. Keep it together, Lewis. He coughs and sputters mid swallow. 

"W-What?" 

Raphael's licks his lips tantalizingly and tilts his head to the side. 

His head is tired is all, Simon thinks. He's  _not_ into you. A neck tilt does not constitute flirting in any universe.

(Only it  _does_ for a certain person)

"Bane-Lightwood Training Center."

Simon blinks, puzzled. Had he been staring again and missed part of the conversation? 

Raphael clarifies, rolling his eyes. "Boxing? It shares a building with Garroway Music Studio?"

Simon feels like a bonafide idiot now and has blown any chances with the jerk and not only that but he's going to have to pass him frequently, it seems. Life and the universe loathe him. 

"D-Do you sing?" He stammers.  

The man smiles, cocky and humble at the same time. What a paradox. Simon feels warm and tingly, desperate to hold onto Raphael Santiago though he can't pinpoint  _why._

"I do, yes. Not professionally. I am a man of many talents. However, I'm there due to _boxer training_. My friends own the business."

(Sober Simon will later facepalm upon realizing they two mutual friends in common- but not yet) 

Oh cool, that makes sense. That explains why his thighs look like they could crush walnuts and his arms - clothed by a snug jacket - are muscled. Simon nearly bites his fist in  _want._

"You're being trained?" 

Raphael laughs, light and teasing. "I'm more equipped to train others. I'm a coach, I've been at it for over five years." 

How did Simon not notice him? Who could miss such a gorgeous jerk of a man? He feels his cheeks heat up and considers speed walking away as quickly as possible. No, he'll stew in his shame instead. He won't run away like a coward. 

"Cool, that's cool." He flags down the bartender and gestures at his empty glass. "Can I get another one of these? 'm not sure what they're called? Uh they taste kinda sweet?"

The other man sips his mojito and smoothly replies, "He'll have a Bay Breeze."

Great, now he's being mocked by a guy who's now on his second disgusting green drink. Who has lips that would make angels weep at the beauty. His eyes drop to the aforementioned mouth hungrily. What would he taste like and why does Simon feel a craving to find out, burning in him like a smouldering fire?

 

"She knew what I meant," he says defensively to Raphael's lips. He's a lightweight and the alcohol is making his head swim in an odd way. 

 

Raphael deadpans with a slight smirk. "Would you rather I'd ordered you a mojito?" 

Simon narrows his eyes. "You wouldn't." 

Mr. Sex slides the drink to him, the cocky bastard. "You're right. This one's on me." 

They talk for what feels like mere minutes but spans two hours. The topics range from Raphael's job, Simon's burgeoning musical career to his lousy roommate who'd dragged him here against his will.

It diverges into an amused tale about Raphael's fiend of a friend who insisted he accompany he and his boyfriend on their date that somehow went from  _'I've made reservations'_ at an upscale restaurant to  _'Oh darling, did I mention we're taking a swing at the club on 27th? You'll fit in, I'm sure. No one there is straight'_ afterward.

He sounds an awful lot like a guy Simon knows.

- 

 

He's four Bay Breeze's in and tipsily holding the handsome stranger's hand when Maureen slides in behind him. 

"Green dress was a bust. Let's go home, Simon. I want to throw on some sweats and watch Grey's Anatomy reruns until I pass out." 

Raphael clears his throat to garner Simon's attention as he'd been staring again and missed the person behind him. 

Simon grins like an idiot and spins around in his seat. "Maureen! Didn't know you'd be here! Who'd you come with?"

She looks him over and takes in the pink cheeks, the crooked glasses, the smudge of alcohol on his shirt. Simon's hazy eyes. A girl can't have some fun without her roommate coming onto a stranger and guzzling booze. That's it. She'll take Maia next time instead. 

Maureen takes his chin in her hand and surveys the damage. He beams at her like she's some sort of goddess and yeah, it's time to go home.

"God, Simon. How much have you had to drink?" 

The handsome man whose hand her friend had been holding hastily pulls out a pen and scribbles something onto a cocktail napkin.

"Four," he replies and tucks it into Simon's jacket pocket. 

The universe is a cruel harsh mistress. Simon has netted his more attractive other half already and she's empty handed. 

"And you are?" 

The man extends a hand and surprisingly brushes his lips over hers when she offers it. He's either really charming or really fake, she's not sure which. Either way he has an obvious interest in Simon which is rare in itself. 

"Raphael Santiago. Simon and I work next to one another. Your friend has had too many. You should take him home." 

Simon sways toward the man and splays a hand on his chest. 

"Aw no, we were having fun. Right R-Raph? That'sa good nickname. Rafe, yeah." His eyes dart down to his own hand. "Anyone ever tell you...that'sa nice chest? Like really firm and strong. Wouldn't mind _that_ in my bed."

Raphael's cheeks tint, his lips part to speak but he's nothing comes out. 

Maureen takes that as their clue to get gone before tipsy Simon ruins it for sober Simon. She drapes an arm around his waist and tugs him upright. 

"But," he begs, childlike. 

 

She cups a hand around his ear and whispers something that makes him grin and mumble about hot guys with numbers. 

 

Not surprisingly, because he's Simon _awkward drunk_ Lewis, her friend has a final embarrassing flirty one liner in him.

He winks and sloppily blows the man a kiss. "I'll see  _you_ again, Mr. Santiago Sex." 

"He's drunk," she says apologetically. 

Raphael raises a single brow and does a slow appreciative once over of Simon. "I can see that." 

"He'll call soon," she promises. She was there for the napkin incident and it's going to confuse the hell out of him tomorrow but for now.

The man nods, looking almost hopeful, and she steers a stumbling flustered Simon toward the nearest taxi.

* * *

 

 


	2. I don't want to want you like I do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been one week since Simon drunkenly humiliated himself. He's still jobless, sleeps at 2 in the afternoon and his friends are taking joy in his pain by playing matchmaker. 
> 
> God help him.

 

* * *

It's been one week since Simon made an ass of himself in front of the hottest guy he's ever met and he's had time to clear his head. Apparently he has exceeded the time frame as his friends have gathered in a sort of  _Simon's love life needs resuscitation_ intervention. It's 2 in the afternoon, he has hardly slept and everyone appears blurry.

Clary in her ginger haired beauty and big green eyes, shoots him the sweetest kindest expression. "If you want, I'll hold your hand while you call him," she offers. It's a lovely offer but he'll pass, thank you. 

The coffee pot is his saving grace, beautiful simple machine that it is. He presses a button and refuses to speak until the first heavenly drop touches his tongue. Such a dark boldly black beauty - a marvel really. God bless Starbucks ground coffee. The afterlife (he's really hoping he has joined the ranks of the deceased) tastes rich with a hint of caramel. 

Alec scrubs a hand over his face, impatient. "I'd rather not have to watch him inhale a pot of coffee." 

His tall lanky frame is awkwardly dangling from a sofa that was  _not_ meant for unreasonably tall people. At his side, his longtime boyfriend Magnus pats his knee. If two people could possibly be more different, it's them. Magnus Bane is flamboyant to say the least. From the tips of his designer shoes to the generous eyeshadow artfully sweeping his lids, he bleeds elegance. 

Too much color this early in the afternoon, Simon thinks. 

At Clary's side her boyfriend Jace is stretching his legs, settling in for the wait. Sandy blonde hair sweeps to the side and complements a stunning case of heterochromia. Because he's too _Fonzie_  to do casual, he's dressed in jeans and a black leather jacket. Simon wants that kind of confidence. Or the jacket. Both would be good. 

Flanked on the opposite side of Clary sits Isabelle Lightwood, Alec's younger sister. She's him but less grumpy, more upbeat happiness and better clothes. Unlike Alec's muted colors, she's wearing a loud shade of red and heels. Why she chooses to dress up to interrogate him, he'll never know. But then again, she's always dressed to the nines. It's best not to question it. 

Maureen is cross legged on the carpet in the middle, looking rather smug. She's wearing a shirt that's clearly from  _his_ closet seeing as it's Star Trek (that she loathes) and slouchy sweats, hair loose and framing her traitorous face. 

Maia's head is in Maureen's lap and she's ignoring all of them for the most part. She has a Bladerunner shirt (he absolutely  _must_ find out where she bought it) and black leggings on with Chuck's. In her hand is a worn paperback Jane Austen novel that she's reread at least four times that he knows of. 

From his view in the nearby tiny open plan kitchen he can see them. All together, they form a rather handsome blurry gathering. 

-

 

He takes another sip and drags it out as retribution for having his sleep interrupted. The mug is warm against his palms and once more his thoughts drift back to his poorly spring-in-the-back but functional mattress. "Don't you have anything better to do?" He mumbles to the group at large.

Jace helps himself to a mug, pouring in a scant amount of Maureen's fancy hazelnut creamer. He'd voluntarily removed himself from the band, upon recovering, for an unknown amount of time which meant more hours in rehearsal for Simon. Not that he was complaining. He rather enjoys his job though the pay per gig is measly. 

The blonde grins wickedly, leaning against the kitchen counter. There's not enough caffeine in the world that could ever come close to preparing Simon for what comes out of his mouth, ever. Since the beginning of time. "My services are needed here. Who else is going to get this guy in your bed? Trust me, I've-"

Isabelle interrupts, holding up a hand. Simon's so grateful he could kiss her...if she wasn't like a sister to him. That would be creepy and wrong on many levels. Her freshly manicured nails smooth down a wrinkle on her dress as she gathers her composure. "Stop before you hurt yourself," she warns. "Simon, tell us more about him. Does he have a name?" 

Jace glares at her and Clary eyes him threateningly. He begrudgingly rolls his eyes and drinks in silence. 

Magnus settles into his end of the sofa, eyes glittering at potential gossip. 

Simon immensely regrets sharing his almost dating venture with the lot of them but if he hadn't, Maureen would've. She's a proud bisexual mother hen whose sheer purpose in life is to torment him and wish he'd never agreed to move in. They've known one another for years and in that span of time she's made many failed attempts at hooking him up with this girl or that guy or  _that person in the corner._

 

He groans, knowing they'll never let him off the hook. His bed is  _right_ there down the hall but no.

"Raphael Santiago. Says he knows and works for the two of you." he sleepily murmured, nodding at Magnus and Alec.

Just saying Raphael's name makes him shiver. 

 

Magnus gasps and Alec automatically pops up, concerned. He places a hand on his boyfriend's arm which Magnus clutches loosely.

" _Raphael._ My sweet boy," he sighs melodramatically. "He's been single for _centuries_." 

Simon can already see the wheels spinning in his head, oh god. He scalds his tongue on hot coffee and sputters. "W-What's wrong with him? Is there a reason why he hasn't been with anyone? Is he..." He pauses, stomach in a knot. _"Straight?_ And how do you know him? Out- outside of the business I mean."

Realizing Magnus isn't in any sort of danger, Alec returns to his now pretzeled position. 

Simon is really hoping his friend is wrong. Raphael Santiago struts like a peacock, dresses fancier than any heterosexual man he's ever met and _those lips_. It wouldn't be fair if they belonged to a straight man but life is rarely fair. 

Magnus shakes his head as though his clueless friend has lost what little marbles he had. Casually, like Simon's well being isn't at risk here, he unlocks his phone and scrolls through it. Simon makes a small noise of protest and the shorter sassier man ignores him.

"Come on, don't leave me hanging," he pleads. It's too early for mind games.

Having located what he'd been hunting for, Magnus passes his phone over. "He's single because he's too _picky_ but he really is a beautiful boy. He even cooks; his fish terrine should come with a halo."

Simon groans.

Realizing he's veered off topic, Magnus clasps his hands together and tilts his chin up high, indicating he noticed Simon's impatience and is choosing not to address it. He continues, sentimental prattling aside.

"To answer your second question; we met at Pandemonium decades ago. He needed a job and Alec was recovering from a hand injury, the rest is history. Now flip through the pictures, Cupcake."

 

During Simon's fuzzy drunken night of revelry, he'd failed to make the connection between Raphael Santiago and Magnus and Alec's business. Reluctantly, he takes the proffered phone and braces himself for the worst.

 

He's greeted by rows and rows of Raphael Santiago with various people and Magnus. There's one of Raphael leaning against a motorcycle seductively, Raphael filling in his brows as Magnus applies a layer of liner around his eyes.

Next up is Raphael tipsily wearing red lipstick on another night and pulling a face at their mutual friend whose lips are also sporting the shade. In Magnus and Alec's loft, no less. After that, Raphael with an armful of expensive suits mid shopping as Magnus holds one up against his frame followed by a shirtless Raphael grappling with a (shirtless - _why God?)_ Alec at the training center. 

Lastly, Raphael dressed down in a light purple tee with _[Gay, Educated and Petty](https://www.redbubble.com/people/mkirkdesign/works/25426943-gay?grid_pos=1&p=t-shirt&style=mens) _ on the front. His left cheek has ace colors painted on and the left reveals a colorful rainbow flag. His smile is carefree and hair tousled; Simon _wants_.  Behind him, a large sign mentions Pride 2016. Sunlight bathes his face in a duplicate photo at the same place. 

At his side is a surprisingly chipper Alec in a simple black v-neck that says  _Hella gay_ in white lettering on the front. Magnus is almost entirely missing due to a bad angle but there's a hairsprayed tall pink tuft of hair near the bottom that attests to his presence. 

 

"Oh," he says, returning the phone. 

 

"Now that we've established his gay card; I'm going to teach you how to flirt," Jace announces. He places his mug in the sink and returns with a devilish smile. "You want him to be putty in your hands-" He starts.

Clary clears her throat, causing him to cut off mid stream. Her arms pull Simon in for an unnecessary hug and he barely dodges spilling coffee down her back. She's affectionate to the point of making him uncomfortable at times but that's all Clary. He wouldn't take it back.

"Simon," she murmurs, pulling back and taking his hand. "You don't have to change who you are for someone to notice you. He wouldn't have given you his number if he wasn't interested." She has a magical way of wrapping logic in emotion that makes him fold. She's a walking Hallmark commercial overlaid with a TED Talk.

He breaks away and does his best to hide behind his mug or at least make sure his mouth is full of coffee. Can't talk without spitting it everywhere, he thinks, fool proof. Clary sighs, Jace's face is unreadable. Alec has moved on to playing Candy Crush, Magnus picks at the polish on his nails.

They wait. 

Irritated, Simon dumps his cup in the sink and reaches for the dishwashing liquid. Maureen is always on him about not picking up after himself; now is the perfect time to take up the habit. "How about all of  _you_ call him since you're being pushy about it?" He grouses from the kitchen. 

He shouldn't have said that. 

* * *

 

 

"I know you have things to do, darling but we need to catch up. Can you not spare your oldest friend at least five minutes of your time?" Magnus pouts. On the other end, Raphael speaks. The former continues. " _You've_ been busy," he states lightly. 

Simon sits with his head in his hands, powerless. 

Jace has discovered a half empty bakery box of doughnuts along with Clary who claims a lemon filled pastry. The last one, in fact.  Alec has abandoned the phone in lieu of flipping through an Iron Man comic with a blank face per usual. He's a robot in a people suit, Simon has decided. If it weren't for Magnus or Izzy spotlighting his more homosapien side, he'd rightfully believe it. 

Izzy disappears to take a call from her beloved Meliorn. Simon recognizes the ringtone and the luminous smile that brightens her entire face. They're going on nearly ten years together and they've yet to lose that spark. He's a decent guy who keeps her high on a metaphorical pedestal. It's sweet. Meliorn has tribal tattoo's (not the cheap mocking kind either - these relate to his heritage), shoulder length bluish black hair and clothes that Simon muses are a product of Etsy. He's different. 

Magnus saunters to the kitchen, nabbing the very last doughnut and a saucer with a fork. He refuses to use his hands like, 'Some sort of savage, Simon'. 

"What's his name?" He asks playfully. 

As soon as he returns to the sofa, Alec tears a hefty side from the doughnut with his bare hands without asking. Magnus doesn't seem to mind but Simon wants to lecture him about sticky fingers and valuable comic books. However, he has enough to deal with already without adding to it. 

 _"Simon,"_ Magnus purrs. 

Don't ever say it like that again, Simon thinks. If it wasn't for Clary's enthusiastic thumbs up, he'd wrongfully assume everything in front of him was a figment of his imagination. But it's not and she's  _that_ cheesy. 

Magnus tucks the phone between his ear and shoulder - a sacrifice necessary for doughnut consumption. "Mmhmm," he mumbles, chewing. After a moment, "You didn't get  _his_ number? I've taught you better than that, my little protege." 

That explains a lot, Simon thinks. Maia scoots in close to pick up bits of conversation. Out of the seven of them she has the best hearing. It's impossible to hide anything from her. Maureen gravitates in her direction, both crowding either side of Magnus. 

 

-

"This guy is a human spider," Alec mumbles to nobody at all. He shakes his head and Simon feels  _so_ sorry for him. He has such a sad boring life devoid of comics and videogames, guitars and probably even moo shu pork. 

Jace leans over his shoulder. "I'm not impressed." 

Their conversation snags Maia's attention; she makes her way over and treats the two of them to a deadpan  _Are you kidding me_ look. If his life wasn't currently being renovated and fresh wallpaper rolled out on his love life, Simon would be insulted also. As it were, his attention is channelled toward a certain meddling friend. Enemy now. Frenemy. Magnus Bane.

Maia points at the aging comic pages that currently showcase a circa 1985 Spiderman. "That's Peter Parker. He lost his uncle Ben and still managed to keep New York on it's toes and villains off the street. He battled the green goblin and venom, he fought an angry  _lizard_ who was on a rampage. How can you not know who he is?"

Jace backs away slowly, retreating to Clary's side. Alec, regretting he ever opened his mouth, wordlessly passes the comic to a protective Maia. 

-

 

Magnus polishes off his doughnut, eats it as though it were tiramisu or caviar as opposed to what it really is: a selected pastry in a box of bakery doughnuts marked down due to their approaching expiration date. By this point he has admitted he's quite familiar with their mutual  _friend_ and, much to Simon's embarrassment, has built him up into someone worth taking a chance on. 

"Write this down," he softly orders. Pause. " (646) 865-2543. Yes, Simon _Lewis_." 

Clary squeals and clamps a hand over her mouth. 

Maureen grins smugly and gives Maia a high five. 

Jace waggles his brows at Simon suggestively. 

Alec is Alec. His nose is now buried in Maia's  _Seitanic Spellbook_ of vegan recipes. It was a gag gift from Simon but surprisingly it gets more use than not. She'd packed it with her today to show a friend at the local animal shelter a killer recipe for tempura asparagus sushi. Naturally she'd hurried to their gathering after. 

Magnus frowns. "You're cooking with _blood_?"

Oh God. Raphael is a hannibal. Dammit. A  _cannibal._

Or he puts blood in everything for no reason? Chicken noodle soup? Have some O negative. Brownies? Why not throw in a fresh AB+? Disgusting. Disturbing. Simon is  _not_ calling this guy. He's watched enough horror movies to know where this leads and he's not down with being a human sacrifice. He's still young and still hasn't taken Clary up on that roller coaster that looks really scary and his mom says he's a handsome boy but that's kind of her job and-

He shouldn't have held Raphael's hand. Now he's going to die for it. Fantastic. 

Magnus reclines on the sofa, casual as can be while his friend is working himself into a frenzy. "What _does_ pair well with blood sausage?" He tugs Alec closer and affectionately leans against him. _"Morcilla de Burgos,_ mm. Pine nuts and raisins. Yes, we'd love to try it. Next time, Cookie." Alec frantically shakes his head no. He has sampled Raphael's cooking before and it's mostly spices that make his tongue burn. 

"Friday at 8? Of course he'll be there; I'll give him directions. Don't be nervous,  _pollito._ No, I didn't mispronounce it. I  _didn't."_ Magnus huffs. "Raphael Santiago, I didn't call for Spanish lessons. Don't sass me."

Simon lets himself relax. He can't help but chuckle at the idea of Raphael taking digs at Magnus - that's a show he'd gladly watch. 

Satisfied at whatever was being said on the other end, Magnus continues. "No it hasn't escaped me that you've only met once. He's going to love you, who wouldn't? Though I would advise a more bland choice of food. Mm, yes. Tamales would fit the bill." 

Alec peeks over the book and cocks a brow at Simon. 

Simon, in turn, shrugs. 

They mutually and silently agree that Magnus is out of control. 

* * *

 

Even so.

*

Simon has a date Friday night at eight with a man he drunkenly groped and called  _Mr. Sex._ A dinner date at _his_ house. What's worse is how badly he wants this.

Simon would let the guy serve him blood sausage, tamales, plain tap water if it meant sitting across from him. Holding his hand. Memorizing a snarky yet shy smile he mostly remembers. Existing next to him. Building a life that includes kissing those lips. Maybe even putting on moves from the endless list of romantic comedies he's watched to good use. 

*

This cannot be good.

I'm dead, he thinks. I won't survive this. 

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> our boy raphael knows his way around the kitchen. who can resist? not simon.
> 
>  
> 
> (also: raphael is gray ace in this fic meaning it ~will~ get lightly smutty at some point. I'll make a note at the top of that chapter so if you're not into that you can skip past it if you'd like)


	3. hedging my bets on you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon and Raphael enjoy a quiet first date over tamales and wine.

 

* * *

Simon holds out his arms wide, an angel with no wings.

 

He's a patchwork of his friend's makeover magic. A borrowed herringbone peacoat and black boots. A petrified smile and pink cheeks. Hair slicked into a heavily modified pompadour courtesy of Jace. Magnus' buttery soft gray and white striped crewneck, his own frazzled nerves. If it wasn't for his wide deer in the headlights caramel eyes he'd fit the part of a calm guy heading out on an exciting date. 

Magnus massages his temples. You can dress the boy up but you can't erase his skittishness nor can you convince him to forget every horror movie he's watched within the last ten years. "For the last time he's not a cannibal."

Simon shakes his head. "You can't even say that. I watched this 20/20 special recently where this guy killed his neighbor and turned him into stew. In the middle of Summer.  _Stew._ Who  _does_ that?" 

Maia laughs, collapsing onto the sofa. "Yes Simon. He's going to kill you and make Tamales out of you. Sounds disgusting." 

Maureen elbows her in the ribs. " _Not_ helping," she hisses. 

Isabelle smooths back a stray lock of Simon's hair. Her hands are warm and almost soothing. If it wasn't for the alarming fact that he has to walk out that door within the next five minutes for a date he's not mentally prepared for, he'd savor the feeling. 

"Help him cook," she suggests. She lowers her voice and grins mischievously. "It's a powerful method of seduction if used properly."

"I'm not- I can't-" Simon sputters. "Clary!" She'll be his ally, right? He's far from experienced in this area and as much as he'd love to sex Raphael up, he'd rather take it slow. He should cancel; surely a cannibal would understand. Only he's probably not a cannibal and probably makes really good tamales.  

Jace and Clary enter as a unit and he rolls his eyes. 

"Not you," he grumbles. Jace gives him a once over and whistles appreciatively. If they were in a cartoon, an anvil would drop on his head right about now and Simon wouldn't save him. Nope. Jace is too confident in himself and Simon feels mediocre next to him even when his eyebrows do that thing. That  _Damn, Lewis_ thing. 

Clary blocks his view and Simon breathes a sigh of relief. He's  _not_ a cut of beef to inspect. She takes his hand and gives him a concerned mother look. If she breaks out the oven mitts and spit cleans his face, he's outta there. "Tell me what's wrong," she says. 

Alec quietly judges next to Magnus. He has a hand on his chin and the other clutching his boyfriend's. Next to him, Magnus is proudly surveying his work. From the sofa, Maureen zooms in and attempts to snap a discreet photo but forgets to turn the volume down. 

Simon glares. 

"I-I don't know what I'm doing," he confesses. 

Clary pats his hand like a doting grandmother. "You'll figure it out. If it gets bad or if he puts  _you_ on the menu, text me." She checks her watch and pushes him toward the door. "Fill me in on it when you get back."

Beside of her, Jace is wearing his patented Jace-I mock for fun-Wayland smirk. "Get him, Casanova!" 

The others gather around the door in a flock as his wobbly legs lead him to the waiting taxi downstairs. If he's going to his death he may as well see friendly faces before he's six feet under. 

"If I'm not back in an hour or two call the cops," he orders, partly serious. He's answered by many voices talking over one another. On that note, he leaves.

* * *

 

Raphael's kitchen smells of spices and dough. It's warm and furnished with lit ivory candles and vases of various flowers. On the counter lies a neat pile of soaked and drained corn husks and a bowl of pork filling. It's surprisingly cozy and calms Simon's nerves somewhat. 

Until his eyes rove over his date. Raphael is dressed in dark jeans, a baby blue button up rolled at the sleeves. His bare feet and slicked back hair nearly do Simon in. The fact that he's cooking makes Simon's mouth water.  _So_ out of his league. 

"Simon?"

And history repeats. He vaguely recalls the same voice speaking his name to get his attention as he ogled and touched. 

His head jerks up, cheeks heating. "Hmm?"

"I could use some help," Raphael says, amused. He holds up a husk and a spoon, waiting. 

"Oh! Yeah. Let me just." He tugs off his borrowed jacket and carelessly tosses it aside. Self consciously, he adjusts Magnus' shirt.

(And misses hungry eyes trailing from the tips of his boots to the top of his hair)

Raphael waits until Simon has scrubbed his hands and they're side by side filling tamales when he effectively gives Simon goosebumps. Their shoulders brush and Simon's focus is partly on the food, partly on watching those skillful hands. He's attempting to breathe evenly and not imagine what they'd feel like skimming down his chest, his-

"You should wear gray more often. I like that shirt on you." 

_Fuck._

Simon drops a fully prepared tortilla on the immaculate tile floor and curses under his breath. Even his ears feel red and hot as Raphael's compliment washes over him. He'd uttered it with such a way that it sounded dirty. Good God almighty. Give Simon strength.

"Don't worry about it," Raphael adds with a low laugh. 

Jerk, Simon thinks. You know what you're doing to me and you're liking it. He clears his throat, attempting to scoop up his pride as well as the ruined food. 

 

"So, do you um. Do you cook with blood?" He deserves a swift kick to the rear for that one. It's 2017, why hasn't anyone invented a device that repairs broken filters and rambling awkward mouths? He'd be the posterboy and spokesperson if one existed. Proudly, in fact. 

 

Raphael carefully drops each tamale into a steam bath. It takes him a second to process what (adorable) nonsense Simon is babbling about this time. Blood? Why in the world? That would be extremely messy if not unhygienic. 

_"Blood?"_

Simon straightens and allows the stream of tap water to drown out his mumbled reply. "Nevermind, that was...no. Just. You're not a cannibal." He chuckles nervously and wonders if it's too late to abandon his date. 

Raphael places his own hands under, scrubbing them with dish-soap. "I can hear you."

"Yeah let's just...we'll pretend you didn't...you seem like a nice guy and- and you cook well. You, uh, you're really hot and c- cannibals aren't except for that one guy with the...y'know. The accent." Simon crinkles his brow, making the situation worse but powerless to stop. "Anyway, h-humans would be stringy I think. Messy. Not that I'd know." 

Surprisingly, Raphael finds it humorous. He flicks off the water and dries his hands, grinning the entire time. 

"Follow me," he says, reaching for Simon's hand. The tamales will need a solid hour to cook; now is the best time to get to know each other sober. Thus far, Raphael has learned that the flustered boy who eagerly slides his hand into Raphael's is even more awkward sans alcohol. He tends to speak without taking a breath or a sentence break, he fills out his clothes in ways that make Raphael bite his lip. 

He's also stuck on Raphael's being a cannibal. 

-

 

Simon pats the plush red sofa and shakes his head appreciatively as though he were here to assess furniture rather than have dinner. 

"This is good. Sturdy. Kinda feels like sitting on a marshmallow which is really nice. Not the ones from Mario though, that..." Simon trails off, folding his hands in his lap. He pushes his glasses further up his nose and slouches. 

Raphael notes the defeat in his posture, the disappointment. Simon is worried that he's blew the entire date by being himself when the truth is - Raphael likes everything about him. Sure, he's hard to follow and it's difficult to get a word in edgewise but there's nothing about him that Raphael doesn't like. He moves an inch closer until their thighs are touching; he can feel the heat through his jeans. 

He craves that smile. 

"I've never eaten a human being," he states confidently.  

Simon busts out laughing, shoulders shaking against Raphael's. His laughter is contagious and Raphael cannot remember the last time he felt such happiness. Simon Lewis is a hodgepodge of sunshine and terrible movie references. He's goofy and awkward, sober or drunk.

And Raphael is smitten. He wants to carefully unwrap him like chocolate from a stocking at Christmas - to peel away every layer. He wouldn't mind a third date, fourth. He'd settle for sitting beside of Simon Lewis and doing nothing more than listening to the sound of him breathing. 

I don't know you, he thought, but I want to. 

"So about those tamales," Simon giggles.

"Too stringy," Raphael retorts, grinning from ear to ear.

Simon casually bumps his shoulder, still chuckling. "Oooh I see what you did there. Mm? Making fun of me, huh?"

"As someone who  _eats_ people..." Raphael teases, greatly enjoying taking playful jabs at his date.

He doesn't believe in love at first sight. Second maybe.

Definitely second.

Love or something like it.

Simon groans, throwing his head back on the sofa. "Aw c'mon that's not fair. I don't have anything to use against you." 

Raphael joins him. He feels relaxed and unwound for the first time in years. It's akin to breathing out, Atlas gradually sliding the Earth from his shoulders. 

"That's because I'm flawless. Human perfection," he replied, staring into amused brown eyes. He is perhaps one of the most flawed human beings to have ever graced the world with their presence.

"Funny. I don't recall  _human perfection_ having a taste for disgusting mint drinks. Or," Simon begins, brazenly stroking Raphael's cheek with his thumb. "A scar. How'd you get that anyway?" 

Raphael smiles, the timer buzzes for the tamales.

"Another time," he replies, _strutting_ to the kitchen. 

Simon whimpers. 

* * *

 

The taxi honks impatiently and Simon holds up a hand. 

"Gimme sec," he calls. 

They'd eaten, poked fun at one another and talked about everything under the sun but the universe itself. Simon feels like jumping, yelling for the whole world to know how lucky he is -  _See this guy? He likes me! Can you believe it?!_

"You're really good at that. Um, cooking," Simon stammers.

Raphael smiles, cheeks nearly aching with it. "So you've said."

Simon scratches the back of his neck, staring at his shoes. "Oh, yeah. I just thought, you know, I figured - incase you'd forgotten."

"You can remind me next time."

Simon jerks his head up, hoping he heard correctly. "N-Next time?"

"Unless you're not interested?"

Simon nods, eagerly. Later he'll chastise himself for coming off too strong and embarrassing himself.

Way to look desperate, Lewis.

But, for now, his chest is tight with happiness. Elation, even.

He's so bouncy and happy that he presses his lips to Raphael's without thinking.

 

Every nerve in his body seems to light up like store windows around Christmas-time. His lips taste of salt and the bottle of wine they'd shared. Not enough to get drunk, just enough to take the edge off. Sweet, Raphael tastes  _sweet._

Raphael kisses back, soft and relaxed. He could get used to this. 

 

Less than a minute later, Simon pulls away, an apology on the tip of his tongue.

 

"I, uh-"

Raphael takes him by the elbow and leans in, nipping his bottom lip. "Goodnight, Simon Lewis," he murmurs. 

The cabbie honks again and a dazed Simon mumbles a farewell, eyes darting back to his date with every other step. As the vehicle pulls away, he watches until Raphael becomes a tiny dot in the background. 

* * *

 

He's ambushed the minute he swings open the door to his apartment. 

 

"Two and a half hours, Simon. Not bad," Maia announces proudly. 

He toes off his shoes and jacket, closes the door behind him. 

"Gah, I'm beat.  _So_ tired," he states, stretching for added effect. He's a live wire, he'll be lucky to sneak in any sleep at all at this rate. His brain is buzzing with a constant loop of  _the kiss._

Maureen rolls her eyes. "That's lame, even for you." 

Jace throws an arm around Clary's shoulders, both now hogging most of the sofa. "Spill it, Lewis. Who kissed who? I have $20 hedging on  _you_ making the first move. Don't let me down." 

Isabelle squeezes onto the end, throwing down some bills before returning to her spot; head resting on Clary's shoulder. "$15 on Simon." 

Magnus scoffs at the lot of them. "You should be ashamed of yourselves."

Simon smiles at him. "Good to know who my real friends are. Two hours? I could've been _dead._ "

Magnus coughs and not so discreetly scoots to the edge of his seat, sliding a 50 on the coffee table. "Raphael. And he's harmless." 

Beside of him, Alec quietly throws down a $5. "Simon." 

Magnus gasps, hand over his heart. "I might've expected it from Isabelle but not from you, Alexander. You've Cesar-ed our Raphael, Brutus." He has supreme faith in Raphael Santiago and his woo'ing abilities. Especially when they involve Raphael's mama's recipe for tamales. For years, he's been slowly chiseling away at Raphael sharing the treasured recipe. Progress is of a glacial pace. 

Simon lowers himself to the floor, lying prostrate. If he stays there long enough, the carpet will accept him as one of it's own and he'll never have to face his treacherous friends again. 

Alec shrugs. "I'm only out five dollars." 

Maureen adds a single dollar to the pile. The group eyes her. "What? The rent's due this week.  _Simon._ " 

Said person mutters to himself about finding a brand new group of friends who appreciate him. 

"I'm willing to bet," Maia flips through her wallet. She scrapes together a grand total of .50. "Fifty cents on Raphael." 

The last person to throw a wager into the metaphorical hat is Clary. She adds $14, wavering on who to choose. Biting her lip, she settles on, "Simon." Jace groans. His voice becomes one of many as the group begins to argue about the  _impossible_ odds of Simon succeeding at any romantic endeavor. 

He feels the love.

Really, he does.

"ME," he announces loudly. "It was me.  _I_ kissed  _him_ and it was a mess and I liked it and we're going out again and I'm going to bed now." 

He walks away, leaving the mixed sounds of clapping and bickering behind him. 

 

* * *

 

That night, he dreams of pink pouty lips looking obscenely sexy on a wine glass, on his lips, his neck. Right as he and Raphael get to the steamy part with zippers and teeth on sensitive skin, familiar faces pop up outside of the windows.

Even Dream Simon can't catch a break. 

When he and the band rehearse the next day, he has a chip on his shoulder the size of Manhattan. 

 

* * *

 

 

 


	4. this love is wise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second dates and sleepy texts.

 

* * *

 

The lights go down, the music begins. 

Simon leans over in his seat. "This is my favorite movie."

He'd picked the destination for their second date. Originally it was going to be dinner at Raphael's again but, indecisive as Simon is, he'd changed his mind. It's a Thursday matinee and buttery popcorn. Squeaky seats and a nearly empty viewing. 

Raphael adjusts his jacket (overdressed per usual), eyes on the beginning sequence. 

"Never watched it." 

On screen, a black and white frame comes into focus.

Simon gapes. _"What?_ How? It's from '51. It's literally been out for decades."

Raphael shrugs, digging into their shared bucket of popcorn. "I've been busy."

"You never watch tv? Go to the movies? What do you even do in your spare time?" 

"Boxing. Right next to where you are, remember?"

The town's citizens appear in grainy black and white. They're blissfully oblivious to what their future holds. If they'd known, Simon wonders, would they have done anything different? 

Simon waves a dismissive hand in the air. "Yeah but that doesn't count."

The music rises.

"You should come watch," Raphael suggests, veering into new territory. 

They've saw one another in passing and exchanged flirty jabs but have never purposely went out of their way to visit the other. Simon with his band rehearsal, Raphael with boxing. 

Simon awkwardly moves closer - as much as the seats will allow. He has never hated cupholders more than he does now nor has he had a vendetta against them. Perhaps a petition is in order.

"Maybe I will." 

Raphael places the popcorn on the chair next to them, hand groping in the dark for Simon's.

"I'll be there tomorrow until 6," he whispers, grinning like a mad man when Simon intertwines their hands.

On the screen, Tom Stevens is going about his daily life. Helen Benson is none the wiser. The town bustles and  _breathes._

"I've got rehearsal right next door if you can believe that," Simon chuckles. 

The words  _The Day the Earth Stood Still_ dramatically appear in shades of black and gray. Raphael brushes the palm of Simon's hand with his thumb, finger grazing the fine lines there. 

"What a coincidence," he deadpans. 

A loud shushing noise from two sections up causes them to quietly giggle. They make it as far as Klaaatu rewriting the professors equation before kissing becomes more important than the fate of the world at large.

* * *

 

Raphael becomes a fixed point in Simon's life after that. He attends the band's newest gig and throws Simon a wink while he's on stage.

He's in Simon's arms on a beaten down sofa with classic scifi movies on the television. 

He's there at the coffee shop when Simon's band performs an acoustic session to a handful of people.

He argues with Maia over Fanny Price though they both agree that if Simon were a female heroine in a Jane Austen novel, he would be a mixture of her headstrong nature and Fanny's bubbly sister. He'll take that over being the stuffy (but, granted, misunderstood) Mr. Darcy any day. 

Raphael and Jace talk bolo punches and Raphael's vintage Enfields motorcycle. It's rare according to an elated Jace after ogling and testing it out. When Raphael takes it back to demonstrate a particular position, Simon can't tear his eyes from the sight. He can't believe that this man with his disgusting mint mojito's, sexy leather jackets and love of baking is  _his._

On a Saturday night, Maureen whips up mixed drinks for everyone and Magnus one up's her with his flawless dirty martini's. A tipsy Raphael crashes on Simon's couch after Isabelle swindles everyone out of their money via a rousing game of blackjack. 

One Friday night, Simon lets Isabelle drag them out on a double date wherein Meliorn and Raphael speak in a language Simon isn't fluent in.  After awhile, Isabelle pours on the heavy PDA and they leave early. 

Clary gives Simon sexual tips and advice that he never asked for, never wanted. No thanks. They haven't bridged that gap yet though they've came pretty close to it. As much as he'd love for it to happen soon - like  _yesterday_ soon - he wants to take things slow. To let Raphael move at his own pace. 

Of course there's the power couple who take credit for making this  _magical couple_ happen. Magnus lends an ear when they have their first petty argument, Alec is the much needed logic in that situation. 

And then there's Elaine Lewis.

She mom-guilt's Simon into bringing his boyfriend to dinner and spends the entire time talking about _My little monkey_. Much to his humiliation, she even brings out photo books and points out framed pictures on the wall. Simon wearing headphones as a toddler, Simon riding a bike for the first time with the help of his (late) dad.

Simon and his sister Rebecca in a family portrait. Rebecca who meets Raphael and actually squeals because -  _"Oh my God. Oh. My. God, Simon. He's so cute. I can't believe you didn't introduce us sooner. Hi I'm Rebecca, your future maid of honor._ _"_

(He'd shot a warning glare at his mother then who ushered her out of the room) 

 

In short, Raphael is everywhere. 

In short, Simon is in love. 

* * *

 

"u should keep Me," Simon sleepily texts. 

It's four a.m. and he's covered in a cold sweat. He'd had a dream. A nightmare really. In it Raphael was walking away from him with a disappointed look on his face and Simon couldn't... _he couldn't follow_. Every time he opened his mouth to apologize, the words wouldn't come out. But he felt them deeply, honestly. Painfully.

He woke with a sense of loss, damp cheeks. Assuming his other half was fast asleep, he'd typed out the message and blearily rubbed his eyes.

"It's not real." He curls up in the center of the bed, feeling chilled. "It's not-"

_Ping_

[4:08 a.m.] **Raphael Santiago** > _That's the plan._

Simon smiles.

[4:10 a.m.]  **Raphael Santiago** >  _Shouldn't you be sleeping?  Rehearsal tomorrow._

I love you

I love you

He thinks, I love you. They haven't said it but it's there in every shy smile, every night spent cooking at Raphael's side. It's there when they're sitting close on a weathered bench in Central Park as pigeons pick at the grass. In every rehearsal Raphael attends, in the corner seat when Simon is beaming proudly as Raphael trains a string bean of a boy who can't throw a decent punch. 

I love you

[4:12 a.m.]  **Simon Lewis** >  _bad dream_

[4:13 a.m.]  **Raphael Santiago** >  _I'm sorry baby. My sofa is empty if you want to crash here tomorrow. No pressure._

[4:15 a.m.]  **Simon Lewis** >  _idk maybe?? I dont wanna get in the way, like, if youre busy or something_

He shivers at the thought of Raphael not being in his life, the nightmare. They've been together for roughly two months now and it feels like two seconds and forever. Raphael hasn't opened up to anyone in years, Simon cannot remember the last time he felt  _safe_ in love. If ever. 

So yes. 

He's more than okay with sleeping at Raphael's place.

[4:17 a.m.]  **Simon Lewis** >  _i've got this nightmare thing, i'm an adult. lol i'm okay_

[4:19 a.m.]  **Raphael Santiago** >  _Bring your own pillow. If you snore, I reserve the right to ship you back to Maureen._

[4:21 a.m.]  **Simon Lewis** >  _i've never snored a day in my life_

[4:22 a.m.]  **Raphael Santiago** >  _We'll see about that._

[4:23 a.m.]  **Simon Lewis** >  _i'll sleep so quietly youll forget i'm even there_

[4:25 a.m.]  **Raphael Santiago** >  _Impossible. Get some sleep, you have a gig tomorrow._

[4:26 a.m.]  **Simon Lewis** >  _youre so cute :)_

[4:28 a.m.]  **Raphael Santiago** >  _Goodnight Simon._

[4:30 a.m.]  **Simon Lewis** >  _buzzkill, i was trying to flirt_

[4:31 a.m.]  **Raphael Santiago** >  _A noble attempt. Sleep. _

[4:32 a.m.]  **Simon Lewis** >  _fiiiiine. g'night_ ( ⚆ _ ⚆ )

 

He raids the fridge instead, too hyped up to sleep. Raphael wants to keep him. Tomorrow he'll be waking up to sleepy good morning kisses and maybe even snuggling on the sofa after. When he finally passes out at 5:45 he dreams his bed is an ocean but he's not drowning. 

Raphael is there to save him. 

* * *

 

"You love him," Clary declares giddily. 

It's a Monday three days after staying the night at Raphael's. He'd woke to forehead kisses and _'Buenos dias, sleepyhead. By the way, you do snore. I'll take pity upon you and extend the offer, however. Stay another night?'_

He'd dragged Raphael down for a long slow kiss and happily stayed two more nights. 

She's right.

It's too early on a Monday, they're on a well needed coffee date and she's right. 

Simon adds another packet of sugar to his coffee. "What? That's silly. Love, pfft. I- it's too soon for that and he  _likes_ me but I doubt it's  _love."_ Of course he loves and it's scary. Raphael is his first real relationship and he's terrified of ruining everything.

" _Really?_ Is that why you look at him like Magnus looks at Alec?" 

"...he doesn't," Simon replies, voice small and timid.

Raphael doesn't love him, why would he? He's the very opposite of what Simon assumes Raphael's type would be: sophisticated, well dressed, could carry on a conversation without -  _'That reminds me of this part in (___) movie'._ Not  _him._

Clary shakes her head, disbelieving. "Have you  _saw_ the way he looks at you?"

Even strangers could recognize the age old pining and how they follow one another even when the other is walking away - even if it's just tracking his movement with longing eyes. 

Simon adjusts his glasses, sighing. "Yeah he looks at me like he likes me. There's a difference, Clary."

"Simon," she starts, taking his hand. "It's a good thing. I knew Jace was it for me before we even went on our second date. Sometimes love chooses for us. Love chose the two of you like it did with my mom and Luke." 

He smiles shyly, hopeful. "I know that feeling, yeah. Hey, did anyone ever tell you you're cheesy? 'Cause you are."

She pulls her hand away and swats at his arm playfully. "Says the guy who never misses a Nicholas Sparks movie."

"Book," he corrects. "The movies are crap." 

Clary agrees. The movies are straight-up embarrassing. Dear John for example, too forced. 

"Jace did the sweetest thing last week," she begins, after a heated mutual rant about books vs movies. 

Simon drops his head on the table though he's just as guilty of sappy bragging as she is. 

 

* * *

 

 Simon almost tells him. 

Raphael is begrudgingly watching Interview with the Vampire next to him despite stating he absolutely was  _not_ going to and - 

_'You can watch that one by yourself. Vampires can't fly nor are they vicious. This is not a good representation of them.'_

"LeStat loves Louis, Louis both love and hates him. That's not a healthy relationship. There is love though," Raphael states. 

They're nearing the end of the movie and Louis is dropping to his knees, LeStat's pale hand in his own. The elder vampire appears half dead and his eyes are filled with tears. Louis loves him, it's obvious, but it is not enough to make him stay.

Simon is only half paying attention to the TV. They're at Raphael's place with the lights dimmed, the glow of the TV throwing shadows on Raphael's face. He watches the movie with such scrutiny and intensity as he does with most everything in his life. 

He's dressed down tonight in a black t-shirt and sweats, bare feet. Stunning even like this, Simon thought. He's staying the night, wearing Raphael's nearly too short sweats and a sleeveless shirt - there's something beautifully intimate about sharing clothes.

About a relaxed Raphael in his element.

"I-" Simon begins. He licks his lips nervously when Raphael pauses the movie, instantly giving him his full attention. 

"I lo-," the pressure is too much. He folds. "-like you."

For a minute there, Raphael searches his eyes. Knowing good and well that he's not telling the full truth. Instead of forcing him to admit it (how unromantic would  _that_  be)he takes Simon's hand and squeezes gently. He loves Simon Lewis more than he should. He's attached - heart and soul. 

"I  _like_ you too, baby." 

Simon notices the emphasis on  _like._ He spends the rest of the movie mentally picking five words apart. They fall asleep together on the sofa - Raphael's head on Simon's chest, Simon's arms around him protectively. 

It's more than love.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title is taken from ancient text at Herculaneum (next to Pompeii). the translation is exactly that: "this love is wise" as a sap and a history lover, it stuck with me
> 
> anyway the next chapter isn't gonna be pretty and will feature a minor time jump, I'm sorry in advance (don't kill me)
> 
> I'm thinking one or two more chapters will wrap this baby up (with a happy ending, I promise)


	5. see my dreams all die from where I'm standing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon makes assumptions and everything falls apart.

 

* * *

Love moves as a circle. 

The beginning and the end exist within the same realm. Simon learns that a skewed perception can ruin everything in the worst sort of way. To assume the one you love will never leave, for example, is ignorant. They're closer to the end than they thought was possible.

 

The fallout is this:

 

"You're always with Lydia and you're barely around. She can't be  _that_ bad at boxing, Raphael."

Raphael has been training a spitfire blonde lately and they appear to be bonding over vaguely insulting commands, retorts. She's intelligent, beautiful and straight to the point. She's the type of person Simon personally feels like Raphael would choose. 

Insecurities and poor self worth are Simon's specialties. 

Raphael continues wiping down the checkout counter and packing away equipment. Tonight is his night to close and Lydia had popped in unexpectedly, stating she'd just found out her fiance is gay and needed to let off some steam. It was a valid reason to him though Simon is still suspicious. 

Simon continues muttering to himself and waving his hands around dramatically.

Raphael finally snaps. "Would I be standing here arguing with  _you_ if I liked  _her?"_ He scrubs the counter with too much force. He argues with his idiot boyfriend because he cares, because he'd rather fight with him than lose him.

One more antic though. He's toeing a fine line. 

Simon crosses his arms. "What are you waiting for? Go after her."

And there it is. 

They've went round and round with this issue on more than one occasion though it usually ends in angry kisses and making up. Tonight, Simon would rather keep pouring salt to the wound and watching it fester. 

Self destructive, the others have called him. 

Alec and Magnus jointly agree that he has a real problem with pushing away the people that matter and expecting them not to push back. Or getting angry when  _he's_ the one who starts the mess in the first place. It's akin to lighting a fire in dry woods and being surprised and irate when it goes up in flames. 

Raphael outright bares his teeth and storms off toward the exit.

"Out," he growls. 

Simon stands his ground. "Why should I? Got other plans?" 

Raphael is emotionally exhausted and tired of Simon's immature assumptions and bickering. God knows he loves him more than he knows but there's a time to hang up the towel and a time to fight.

"Because I have to lock up and when I'm done here so are we." 

Simon's mouth drops open, an eyebrow rises. "W-What?" Surprise is quickly replaced with disdain. 

He rebounds within seconds, impulsively lights that fire. 

_" **FINE**."  _

* * *

 

It ends with a single box of Raphael's things and sad eyes that Simon convinces himself are angry instead. 

Maureen refuses to speak to him for two days, Alec and Magnus avoid the topic altogether but he notices they're more quiet around him. When he asks about Raphael, Magnus gives him a withering look and walks away. 

Maia tries to explain about Lydia as she's a distant friend of hers but Simon just cries. It doesn't even matter now. 

Clary pities him and buys him copious amounts of Ben & Jerry's. 

Jace offers to set him up on a blind date

(Simon gives it a try and turns his date off by talking about Raphael) 

Meanwhile, he begins to fall apart piece by piece. It doesn't help that Raphael invents excuses to check in on him or remind Simon of what he lost. It's probably the latter as he has no stake in this relationship anymore, why would he care about Simon's wellbeing?

Either way it festers up in him and he spews spiteful childish words at Raphael until his dark eyes turn cold and he stops altogether. Simon skips rehearsals and eats less, sleeps more, ignores phone calls. God it hurts so bad he can hardly breathe most days. It feels like a grief he cannot outrun only there's one repeating stage instead of five:

_Regret_

On the especially bad nights he replays old voicemail messages, flips through pictures of a time when he didn't realize he was loved. Every text message from  _'Did you make it home safe?'_ to  _'I dreamed of you last night'_ bleeds love and yet he'd missed it. Rebecca messages him after a night of tossing and turning to pass on the old adage -  _'You don't know what you have until it's gone.'_

He sobs until his eyes are bloodshot and gritty afterward. 

-

 

"I hate this," he admits on the fourth week.

Clary holds his hand and murmurs, "Heartbreak isn't supposed to feel nice, Simon. It's going to hurt before it gets better but it _will_. If you _can't_ move past it, you're not over him. It's okay to admit that."

"Yeah," he says numbly. 

He cries himself to sleep most nights and wakes with a knot in his stomach. He's beginning to wonder if it ever ends. 

* * *

 

On the sixth week, Maureen flickers on his bedroom light and startles him awake. She taps her foot impatiently, hands on her hips.

"It's four in the afternoon, Simon. It's time you stop feeling sorry for yourself."

When he protests and moans, she rips off the covers.

"Up. You smell disgusting and I know for a fact you've been wearing that shirt for almost two weeks." 

He curls up in the middle of the bed, knees to chest. 

"I can't."

Sometimes Simon needs tough love, tip toeing around his problems only exacerbates them. So she spills the beans.

"I have coffee with Raphael sometimes and he talks about you. The next time he does, I'm going to tell him you've morphed into a sentient trash bag. Do you understand?"

He shoots up, hair matted to his head and greasy. He's pale and noticeably thinner with bags under his eyes; having let himself go after the breakup. The most he leaves his room is to use the bathroom or trudge to the kitchen for a snack when he's up to eating. He's a ghost. 

"Wait, repeat that?"

"He _misses_ you. You miss him. It's not over yet now get your shit together and fix this before you lose him for good."

Simon wasn't the only one who lost Raphael when they broke up. 

Raphael's skin is only halfway to pasty but his face mirrors Simon's: empty eyes, slack jaw, downturned lips. He spends less time at the training center these days and Simon has skipped gigs more than he's attended to the point that she had to find a temporary replacement. 

-

 

Last weeks coffee date played out like this:

_Raphael stares into his mug blankly. "I let him in, Maureen. I don't let people in, he knows this."_

_"That was very brave of you," she says, comforting._

_He scoffs. "Brave is just another word for ignorant."_

_"Raphael. If you could go back and walk away from him the night you met, would you?"_

_There's so much torment and pain in his eyes when he looks up that it makes her want to give Simon a come to Jesus talk. Raphael Santiago is someone who hasn't allowed anyone in, romantically, in years and he broke that mold for Simon._ _He took a chance on love and Simon ruined him for it._

_"No. I wouldn't."_

_She clasps his hand across the table. "Do you love him?"_

_Raphael looks to the right and nods sharply._

_"All I have ever wanted," he chokes out, "-was him."  _

_"For what it's worth, he loves you too."_

_Raphael purses his lips. "I doubt that."_

_"Look, he's an idiot but he does care. I live with him, remember?"_

_"I have to go," he murmured, standing._

_His eyes were damp and chin faintly trembling as he waved goodbye. God, she thought, it's worse than I thought._

_-_

Neither of them are coping in a healthy manner nor are they moving on. Something has to give. 

Simon rubs the sleep from his eyes and nods.

"Okay, but how?"

She wrinkles her nose at his filthy shirt. "Start with a shower and we'll go from there."

* * *

 

He takes another three weeks to reevaluate where he went wrong.

Along the way he rejoins the band, distracts himself with gigs and visits his mother more. He sobs on her shoulder and confesses everything. For two weeks he sleeps in his old room and eats the food she practically forces down his throat, showers daily, exists as a ghost of a man. 

Per Jace's advice, he pastes on a smile and gives dating another try just to see if the new and improved Simon works. The girl is sweet, geeky and interested but it doesn't work out. He feels guilty at the end of the night and stays awake staring at the ceiling, recalling dark eyes turning stormy. 

He doesn't cry.

_(That much)_

He doesn't want to get over Raphael. 

* * *

 

It's a windy Thursday when he works up the nerve to apologize to Magnus for hurting his friend, for hurting him by proxy. He should've said it sooner but stubborn pride got in the way. 

"I- I jumped the gun, I'm sorry. I was stupid and jealous and I'm sorry."

"Good," Magnus says, whirling around to face him. 

They're at the training center and Simon wills Raphael to saunter through the door as always. He gets a steady stream of strangers coming in and out instead. According to Alec, Raphael has reduced his work schedule down to three days a week. 

"What? What's good?"

Magnus is a kindness Simon knows he doesn't deserve especially now but he'll take what he can get.

"You're becoming a grown up," his friend replies cheerily. 

There's only genuine emotion on his face, relief almost. Simon has became a pessimist since the breakup and of course he'd assume Magnus would hold his failures against him. That's not who Magnus Bane is. He's petty yes but not when it comes to apologies and forgiveness if said person has earned it. 

"Oh, yeah, I'm trying. Hey...does he ever...y'know. Nevermind, forget about it. I'm- I'm over it," Simon stammers.

Alec, ever the brash half of the couple, gives him the cold hard truth. He pecks Magnus on the cheek and throws himself into a conversation he wasn't invited to. Simon is desperate for answers, however, he doesn't give a damn who the source is. Alec isn't his closest friend but he is a part of their tightly knit group.

"Yes he asks about you and no you're not over him." 

Simon gapes, recovering a few seconds later.

"Never thought I'd say this but...you're right." He stares at his shoes, sadly. "Not that it makes a difference. It's too late." 

Alec rolls his eyes and walks away. "You're hopeless."

-

Simon apologizes to the group at large on the following day and treats everyone to pizza. He's been a shitty friend and boyfriend but he's aiming to do better. He wants to be the kind of person he thought he was. 

 

The real test lies ahead of him. 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 


	6. and all of my mirrors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon reflects.

 

* * *

 Simon was twelve when his father passed. Young enough to cling to his ailing mother, old enough to compartmentalize the grief. It is still right there, beneath the fresh pain of a different kind of loss. 

When, at fifteen, the first girl Simon liked took hold of his heart and squeezed, his father wasn't there with a rousing speech about overcoming. Just as he's not here now to pass Simon a cold drink and say, "Here's what you have to do to bring him back, son." 

He's not here but Simon is an arms length away from his weathered gravestone anyway. 

"Dad," he starts, fidgeting with his jacket zipper. "Um, there's this guy and I sorta thought he was the one, ya know probably how you felt when you met mom." He shakes his head.

Wrong.

"Scratch that, he's the _only_ one. There's no other contenders, no line." 

Only ever _him_. 

 

-

In his mind's eye Raphael is holding his hand in public for the first time. He's teaching Simon how to be brave, to be himself. To recognize the person reflecting back at him. In the store window he sees himself; scared but cautiously confident. 

Raphael, smiling _beautifully,_  steps up behind him and whispers, "There you are." 

There he is.

There they are. 

-

 

 

It's a good memory. Raphael is good for him, they're a good fit. Were. 

What a sad word. 

 

"Love is messy, right? Isn't that what everyone says?" Simon mumbles. "God, dad, I'm swimming in it. I messed up, big time." 

He shivers against a cool breeze, dropping to sit on the ground. Sundown will be upon him in less than an hour. As such, the cemetery is mostly empty. For that he's grateful as he'd rather have some semblance of privacy. 

"I'm stupid, really stupid. You're not gonna believe this," he takes a deep breath and begins. "Okay so, his name is Raphael and he's gay. Like designer clothes and Pride parades gay. That's great though, that's not the issue. _I_ am. I accused him of being with this girl. I know, a  _GIRL._ I don't know what I was thinking. That I'd lose him, I guess. Y'know how Anakin lost Padme for good all because his fear of losing her led him to  _lose her?_ I'm Anakin, he's my Padme." 

Simon chuckles, Raphael would hate the comparison. He'd make a childish remark about how he's taller than her, thank you very much. 

"That was weird, sorry. He's not that short but he is kinda short. I love it." 

His smile fades. He plucks a blade of grass from the ground, smoothing it with his thumb. 

"I love him, dad. I _love_ him and I thought maybe I didn't have to tell him; that he would just  _know_ but I was wrong. He even came around to check on me after we broke up and I got all paranoid. Who does that? God," he scoffs. "Sometimes I worry that I made him up, honestly." 

Simon had been reeling from the breakup then and misread every interaction between them as spiteful; a reason to be paranoid. He wrongfully assumed Raphael was being petty because that's how he would be if the situation were reversed. 

The loved do not always know they're loved. 

 

 

He rips the tiny blade into pieces that fall to the grass, the broken among the whole. 

Story of his life.

 

 

"I, uh, I've been thinking about what you'd tell me to do if you were here & I'm doing it. I'm owning my shi- sorry. I'm taking the blame, dad. This mess is on me, not him. I did this, I broke us...and I d-don't, I don't-" 

Hot tears spill down his cheek, over his chin. He can't speak past the lump in his throat, the throbbing pain of a heart being squeezed. He stands, wrapping his arms around the hard stone in the only fatherly hug he'll ever get.

"I...I gotta go, I can't be here. I can't...I love you. I've gotta get out of here," he repeats, trying to calm himself. 

His breath comes quicker, more rushed. He barely makes it past the cemetery before the cold is too much. Maia picks him up about half a mile from the cemetery. The vehicle remains idle, pulled to the side and waiting, as she makes her way over. He can feel her; warm and solid. Not marble smooth and cold, date of death. Birth. Maureen must've called her when she came home to an empty apartment.

It isn't the first time he's reached out to the slab of polished stone, he comes here when the world feels unsafe. When he needs something the living cannot offer. 

Maureen knows. 

"Shh, breathe Simon." Maia lovingly brushes her thumbs over his damp cheeks. "You're not alone, okay?"

He nods, silently gripping her hand. She's warm and soft, _alive_.

"I've got you."

Hiccuping sobs are the only reply she gets.

"C'mon," she murmurs, reaching for his other hand, "Let's get you home. I'll show you where Maureen hides the cereal she swipes from you." 

Simon doesn't laugh. This is bad. 

He sniffles and allows her to lead them back to the warmth of the car. She wasn't referring only to the breakup but the gut wrenching ache of loss altogether. 

 

He misses his dad, he misses Raphael. He's not okay but he's getting there. 

 

 

-

 

 

Hours later, still weak from the breakdown, he taps out a text and hits send before he can chicken out.

 **Simon** [11:32 p.m.] >  **Raphael**

_'feels like i'm dying and i hate knowing what it's like to miss u'_

 

READ:

_11:33 p.m._

 

Raphael reads and re-reads the short message until it's too much. It's been months, existing in a static silence without Simon's babbling and Raphael decided only two days after the breakup that Hell has a special nook just for him. After pacing and angrily muttering to himself for over an hour, he grabs his phone, intent upon putting a stop to this. 

 

 

(Only, he can't. It's like losing Simon for the second time)

 

 

 **Raphael** [12:31 a.m.] >  **Simon**

~~_I want_ ~~

~~_Just apologize already so we can-_ ~~

~~_I made you my home and I feel gutted, Simon_ ~~

~~_And I'm angry all the time since I lost you, what does it mean??_ ~~

~~_I can't believe you're doing this to me_ ~~

~~_I LET YOU IN AND YOU JUST-_ ~~

~~_Sorry sorry sorry sorry_ ~~

_~~Maybe~~ _

_~~Maybe we should bury our mistakes in a deep grave~~ _

~~_God, it scares me to realize how much I miss you, Simon Lewis_ ~~

~~_I'm in love with a stubborn jerk who doesn't even miss me_ ~~

_~~Did you finally find The One? That should've been me~~ _

~~_Baby, are you eating? getting enough sleep?_ ~~

~~_Do you ever cry sometimes?_ ~~

~~_I can't stop thinking about you and I hate it_ ~~

 

 _'You were right. It's an awful couch',_ he sends.

 

Before he can talk himself out of it, he turns off the phone completely. Everything is awful without Simon. He even hates the four walls that hold him because each of them echo's memories. The sofa is the worst - it smells of Simon - but the bed is too hard and empty. 

 

~~_It smells of you. Haven't slept in a bed since that night._ ~~

* * *

 

 


	7. are windows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not over, they're not over.
> 
>  
> 
> (and all of my mirrors are windows)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **FYI: this chapter contains mild smut and features gray ace raphael**

 

* * *

Simon wakes to a text around seven a.m.

He's muttering gibberish under his breath about sadists waking up before the birds are even out and how it had better not be Jace when the real name registers. Raphael. It's seven twenty five in the morning and Raphael messaged him. His stomach twists into knots at the thought of what it might say. What if it's an angry text spelling out everything that ever went wrong with them? He's not sure if his heart could take it.

"Just freaking  _read_ it," he hisses, tugging at his hair. 

He has a two minute standoff with the phone before calling a ceasefire. 

"Breathe. It can't be that bad," he says to an empty room. 

Palms clammy, he opens it. 

 

 **Raphael** (07:24 a.m.) >  **Simon**

_Meet me at Central Park. Eight a.m._

 

That's not cryptic and confusing at all. Hundreds of possibilities run through his mind and none of them have a good outcome. In one of them, they're shouting and lunging at one another. He shudders. Love is violent, passionate. 

In another, he clamps up and blames Raphael for his problems. Not fitting, he's moved past that. 

Whatever the outcome, he's ready. 

He dresses mechanically, going through the motions. Even if Raphael does nothing more than yell at him, he'd stay. If he insisted on their meeting more than once just to chew Simon out he'd be there five minutes early because nothing - _nothing_  is going to change the love. He'll go to his grave with a special place in his heart carved out for Raphael Santiago. 

* * *

 

 

The grass is dewy and the morning air is thick with fog. Central Park is dotted with people here and there but most of them rush on by. Meanwhile, Simon stares up at a tall chestnut tree as squirrels scurry from one branch to another. He's witnessing what appears to be a merciless fight over a scrap of hardened bread a careless visitor left behind. They're tugging back and forth at it when he feels a tap on his shoulder.

He noticeably jumps and spins around to confront the rude person who interrupted his moment.

"They shouldn't eat bread," says a concerned voice. 

"R-Raphael. I...it wasn't me. I would never," Simon stammers.

His eyes skim over a dressed down Raphael. He's wearing dark jeans and a gray henley that hugs his body just right. Still beautiful, still achingly beautiful. Every part of him remembers what it feels like to be enveloped in those arms. He knows where to kiss Raphael to make him weak in the knees. Jesus Christ, he knows how the man prefers his eggs in the morning - over easy, two slices of whole wheat toast. This information is useless but it's impossible to look at him and  _not_ want to touch. He hugs himself instead. 

"I'm not here to lecture you about wildlife, Simon."

Raphael rakes his gaze over what used to be his home - his  _Simon._ He's thinner and his hair is more chaotic and untamed than he recalls but he's stunning. Simon could wear nothing but ratty pj's and he'd still want to kiss his neck, hold his hand. 

Simon squirms. "Why then? Why'd you call me here?"

Raphael averts his gaze to the right and presses his lips together. "I got your text."

Simon laughs, "Still got that lousy sofa?" He misses their inside jokes, misses waking up next to Raphael on said sofa. 

"Unfortunately. I can't seem to shake it." Raphael tilts his head to the side, inquisitive. "You should have coffee with me."

That knocks off at least 25 of the  _Shit hits the fan (again)_ outcomes. He's not sure what the main goal is here but Raphael is at his side and those dark eyes are pulling him under. There is nothing he wouldn't do.

Simon chuckles nervously. "Well yeah, the fate of the sofa depends on it. I'd hate for you to throw it out."

Raphael is the serious to his amused. His face takes on a solemn look and Simon has to turn away.

"I'd rather not give up on it," Raphael murmurs. 

_Oh._

He begins to walk away, trusting Simon to follow.

* * *

 

 

They sit for hours at the cafe, tucked away at a table near the back.

Simon babbles on about casual nonsense and Raphael listens intently as he always has. They go through multiple cups of coffee and the world goes on around them. Barista's collect mugs and saucers, customers filter in. Directly behind them, an elderly man whispers sweet nothings to his bride of over fifty years. He says she's just as beautiful as the day he met her and their hands rarely leave one another.

Jealousy coils up in Simon's chest. The couple has this life and eternity together and he wants what they have. 

Underneath the table, his knee brushes Raphael's. Neither pull away. Simon could exist in this moment for the rest of his days. He'd eat and breathe memory,  _love._ If this is all he gets...

"I'm sorry...I miss you," Simon confesses. The space between his brows creases, these words are never easy to say. He's gift wrapping forgiveness and offering himself up, praying Raphael hasn't found someone to take his place. Raphael's face is the sunlight on a rainy day, he's smiling. It's reflecting in his eyes, the love - it's not too late.

Simon slides his hand across the table and grips Raphael's  _hard._

"I love you," he blurts out. And a second later: "Fuck...I didn't mean to..."

He attempts to retract his hand but Raphael refuses to let go. Gently he strokes his thumb against Simon's fluttering pulse. 

"Simon."

Simon's lips are pinched, teeth gritted. 

Raphael repeats his name, firmer. " _SIMON."_

"I didn't mean it," Simon says, covering his tracks. 

"You always were horrible at lying," Raphael states, smirking.

Undeterred, Simon grabs his jacket from the back of the chair with his free hand. His cheeks are scarlet and jaw clenched. Anger is his go-to when he's scared, Raphael knows this and he's unphased. "Look, can we just forget this ever happened? I-I'll just..." Simon stammers. "I don't even know why I'm here. I guess congrats to whoever you're with now. I'm- I'm gonna go."

Raphael releases him. He waits until Simon turns away to say it.

"Just you."

Simon freezes, jacket in his hands. "What?"

 

 

"There is no one else." He bows his head, staring at a sugar packet. "I have always loved you." Such a truth swells up in him until he's misty eyed. All Simon had to was  _smile_ and he was gone on him. He'd been too afraid to run him off by saying it, by moving too fast. Yeah, that backfired. 

 

 

Around them, the coffee shop bustles. The clock on the wall ticks-ticks-ticks away. The elderly couple slide a tip under a saucer and leave hand in hand. The sun begins to wash away the remaining fog.

Simon pays no attention to the people around them. His jacket hits the floor and he's taking Raphael in his arms like he never left.

Their lips meet and it's a first for them: in public, reflected in a coffee shop window. Simon kisses  _I love you's_ against Raphael's cheeks, the tip of his nose. He wraps both arms around his waist, coming up to cradle Raphael's shoulder blades. Blindly, he shoves a generous $20 on the table and breaks away long enough to proudly take Raphael's hand.

When an older gentleman stares at them in disgust, Simon raises their hands to his lips and kisses Raphael's knuckles without breaking eye contact. The man shakes his head and pushes his half eaten scone away. Beside of him, Raphael smirks proudly. 

They don't let go.

* * *

 

 

The next night, they go on a proper date complete with wine and candles.

 

If Simon stretches his leg out under the table to press between Raphael's, no one is the wiser. If he then slides a hand up his thigh followed by Raphael biting his own lip, well the other diners don't have to know. And then there's the heated looks that make Simon's ears turn red and Raphael's eyes to take on an almost primal glint. 

"Check," Simon calls, hand holding the roaming hand on his thigh still. 

God help him, he even smirks dirty. 

"Could I interest you in-" the waiter starts. 

Raphael smiles at the man, charming and polite as though they're _not_ being obscene under the shadowed table. "No thank you. We've a meeting to attend to." He catches Simon's eye. "We've postponed it for too long already." 

The waiter glances between them, puzzled. "Of course. I'll have that right out for you." 

As soon as he leaves, Simon leans forward, dislodging the hand on his leg. "Are you trying to kill me?"

His handsome date raises a single brow. "Is it working?" 

"If you keep this up," he not-so-discreetly scans the room, "You won't get to find out how this story ends 'cause I'm gonna-"

Hastily, the waiter returns and  _winks_ as he collects the cash. Normally Simon would find that strange but he's focused on the cruel  _cruel_ man in front of him that's intent upon committing homicide via sexual frustration. He's positive that's a thing. 

Raphael licks his lips, teeth biting into the bottom one. 

"I hate you," Simon hisses.

"That's not what you said yesterday," Raphael purrs, voice low and downright sensual. 

Simon (with great difficulty) ignores him and cranes his neck to search for the waiter. "Where's the damn check," he mutters. He all but drags them out of the building once they're free.

* * *

 

 

 Raphael mutters a string of spanish curse words as he attempts to unlock the front door to his place.

 

Meanwhile Simon is making everything worse by using their height difference to his advantage. He's sucking wet kisses to the side of Raphael's neck and clumsily undoing buttons from behind. 

"We're not doing this outside," Raphael murmurs, followed by a tiny gasp when Simon slides a hand in the part of his shirt he'd managed to unbutton. 

Simon trails his mouth up to Raphael's ear. "Let me try." He swears he hears an actual whimper when he lets go. The key slides in without issue - normally he'd crow about how he got one over on Raphael for once but there are hands gripping his hips and a hard body pressed against him. It's been too long since they've touched like this and it's beyond tempting to strip him down right there and push him against the wall. 

Raphael swallows hard. "Open the door, Simon." 

As soon as it's closed behind them he's crowding Raphael against it and trailing hot wet kisses along his jaw. Raphael reaches down and cups his face for a sweet, slow kiss. Simon parts his lips and moans when Raphael's tongue caresses his own. They pull apart and back again until Raphael breaks away and leans his forehead against Simon's.

He brushes a thumb against Simon's cheekbone tenderly, lovingly. "I can't believe you're here," he whispers. How many nights has he spent wide awake and dreaming? Hoping, hoping, hoping. 

Simon takes his hand and kisses the palm. "I love you. I love you _so_ much...like a _ridiculous_ amount."

Raphael blushes and smiles, love shining in his eyes. "Come to bed  _mi amor."_

 

 

+

 

 

Simon carefully finishes unbuttoning Raphael's shirt and kisses each collarbone once it's free, scrapes his blunt nails down biceps. Never in his life has love hit him this hard. He would write apologies on the sky if it meant never losing this again,  _him._

"I love you, I love," he murmurs, kissing each corner of Raphael's mouth. "Missed...you, God...so much." He accentuates each word with a tiny kiss. His hands shake as they skim along Raphael's skin.

 _"Te amo mi amor,"_ Raphael breathes, tugging Simon's shirt over his head. "You'll stay," he says as if to convince himself.

It hurts to know the thought even exists in Raphael's mind. Tonight is about promises and staying, vows written in kisses and the taste of his skin. It's about taking that final leap together.

Simon takes his hands, stopping for a moment. "I'll stay," he says, "I'll stay." He leads them to the bedroom and gently pushes Raphael to the bed. His cheeks are pink, lips red and spit slick and his eyes -

Fuck.

He's -

"So beautiful Rafe," Simon whispers. Sunsets and the sweetness of a Summer rainstorm can't even compare. Raphael Santiago has made him an even bigger sap if that were even possible. This is the beginning of a love song, he thinks, cheesy and smitten.

"C'mere," Raphael says, beckoning. "I miss you."

 

 

He allows Raphael to tug him down.

 

 

When their chests touch, it feels like fireworks in the middle of Winter. An unexpected explosion of the best kind and he's coming apart at the seams. More, he needs so much more than this. He sits up, fingers on Raphael's fly, cautiously waiting.  "Can I see you?"

Raphael shakily inhales and nods. 

Simon swallows, throat suddenly dry. He's already aching and wondering if he's going to last until every last scrap of clothing is gone. Undoing Raphael's belt is torturous and he considers, briefly, how hard it would be to tear it off. Raphael gives him a look that says he knows what he's thinking and  _don't you dare._

Simon laughs and makes quick work of the godforsaken belt followed by dark trousers that land in a messy pile next to the bed.

Oh.

Good.

God almighty.

If he thought shirtless Raphael was enough to send him over the edge, this...this is so much worse. He's all hard angles and rounded muscle and Simon licks his lips. This is new territory for them and he's all in. He tears his eyes away to make sure they're still on the same page here.

"Are you...is this okay?"

Raphael's signature smirk makes a return. His gaze flickers over the pants Simon is still wearing.

"I wasn't aware this was a solo act," he teases.

Two can play at that game. Simon grins. "Nuh-uh. You want 'em off, you have to-"

His back hits the mattress and yeah he shouldn't have underestimated someone who can toss him around the ring like a ragdoll. It's unbelievably hot, even more so when Raphael arches a brow and smoothly tugs off Simon's jeans. His hungry gaze rakes over pale skin and he stands there, biting his lip as Simon goes mad. 

"What? Didn't get your fill of torturing me at the restaurant?" Simon taunts, grinning. 

Raphael presses a kiss to a sharp hipbone. "I'm going to spend," he begins and kisses the other side. "forever making you fall apart." He stops, breathing hard against Simon's skin and looking up to meet his eyes. "...if you want," he adds with a note of uncertainty. 

Simon melts.

"Please," he pleads hoarsely, reaching for Raphael. 

Raphael crawls back over him and licks into his mouth, hot and deep. They kiss languidly until Simon impatiently rolls his hips against Raphael's. In return he gets a guttural growl and Raphael sitting up to push Simon's boxer briefs away, followed by his own.

From there it's panting and biting, Raphael tugging at Simon's hair as he kisses a path down his chest and leaves him breathless. He moans Simon's name and arches against the bed until Simon pins down his hips, fingers digging into the sensitive skin. He comes with Simon's name on his lips and his hands white knuckling the sheets.

"Baby... _dios._ I need..." He pants, flipping Simon over to kiss the inside of his thigh, working his way over. He needs to get his mouth on him, to taste and make Simon as needy and weak as he was. 

Simon as it turns out, is quieter. He's all soft moans and breathy  _Raphael_ ' 's dotted with ' _love...you...mm like that...God...your mouth.'_ When he comes, his entire body shakes and his mouth forgets how to form proper words. 

 

+

 

 

When it's over, Raphael collapses on top of him and  _laughs._ They're naked and sticky, blissfully happy. Simon cards his fingers through the tangled mess that's Raphael's hair.   "Forever huh?"

Raphael wraps an arm around his waist and drops a tiny kiss against the side of his neck. 

"That's what I offered," he murmurs. 

Simon grins and wonders what he ever did to deserve such redemption. It isn't a marriage proposal per-say but more so it's a promise to stick it out even when loving doesn't come easy and the petty arguments do. It's inevitable but they're not running away this time. 

"Yeah," he replies, "I'm in."

 

* * *

 

 

 When the others hear the news, Magnus insists on throwing an actual party at Raphael's. It's tasteful decorations, Raphael's apple and manchego crostini with an impressive spread, mixed drinks (see: disgusting mojito's and delicious bay breeze's) and pre-recorded songs from the band's first and only album. Maia and Maureen have their own sort of coming out as they sway to a slow beat and kiss for the first time. 

Clary shrieks rushes over to interrupt, hugging both of them. 

Jace brags and holds out his hand expectedly. "You owe me $10, Alec."

Alec is Alec. He rolls his eyes and gives Jace a blank look as he hands over the money. He really has to stop making bets. Aside from that he sips his drink in the corner and takes in the festivities until Magnus leads him to the guest room for privacy. 

Isabelle (Meliorn in tow) kisses Simon on the cheek and then Raphael. "I'm so proud of you, both of you." They had to break before they could mend, before they could grow. She had faith in them all along.

Meliorn nods in acknowledgement, hushed as always. 

"Thanks Izzy," Simon says, taking Raphael's hand. 

The couple leave to congratulate Maureen and Maia while Simon takes a seat on the sofa. He immediately takes Raphael by the waist and onto his lap. Surprisingly, he doesn't protest. Instead, he turns and whispers filthy things in Simon's ear. In two minutes flat, they're making a beeline for the bedroom. 

Embarrassingly, Jace notices and makes a loud noise of celebration. One of these days, Simon will kill him and it'll be his own fault. 

 

In the end, everything works out for the best. 

 

* * *

  _He gives me the kiss of light_  
_and all my mirrors are windows_  
_He gives me the kiss of light_  
_and I don't know where the time goes_  

* * *

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *collapses* it's finished, I did it! I rarely write smut so, uh, give me a thumbs up or something if it was decent? also thanks for sticking with me to the end - I'm reeeally long winded (obviously) and so my fics are monstrous at times lol
> 
>  
> 
> also! maureen x maia is my newest ship. they're tiny and beautiful and deserve each other *throws flower petals*


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